The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance)

The Honeymoon Cottage (A Pajaro Bay Romance) by Barbara Cool Lee Page A

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Authors: Barbara Cool Lee
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as they left the building. She was disturbed by Oliver's latest revelations, but hoped it didn't show. There was still so much she didn't understand about Dennis Hutchins. But she knew that teaching his son to lie was wrong, as wrong as ripping her off had been. But who could she talk to about this? Not Ryan. The less he knew, the better.
    Ryan held open the car door for her.
    "I appreciate your help, Captain Knight, but I can walk home. It's only a few blocks."
    "Ryan, not Captain Knight. And it's no problem. You're going to be living here in town, and it's my job to help Pajaro Bay's citizens."
    She didn't want to correct him, but she was definitely not going to be a "Pajaro Bay citizen" for long. The sooner she got that silly cottage sold and moved on to some place no one knew the truth about her, the better.
    "Did I say something wrong?" he asked.
    "I'm leaving town as soon as I sell the cottage," she said firmly, hoping to end the conversation there. "Thanks for the offer of a ride, but I could use a chance to walk and clear my head before I get to work on the house."
    He still held the car door open. "Why get tired out before you even start? Come on. I won't bite."
    He smiled, and the warmth for the first time reached his eyes, lighting up their cold depths and transforming him from an imposing figure into something warm and accessible. She felt a tightness in her throat. Again, like the first time she'd met him, she felt that moment of recognition—he wasn't just a cop, and she wasn't just a perp. He was a human being just like her, and he was more than that—kind and concerned, and genuinely a nice guy.
    She took a step toward him, then stopped. She looked away quickly. What was she thinking? This was the last thing she needed. She wasn't going to find him attractive. She just wasn't. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a man.
    But she wasn't thinking, she was feeling. That was the problem. She wasn't making lists, or rationally crunching numbers pro and con. She was feeling. Feeling something she really didn't want to ever feel again.
    He cleared his throat, and she looked at him again. He was watching her with that assessing look. "Let's go before Val calls her sisters and we become topic number one in the town's gossip mill."
    She looked around the parking lot anxiously, then quickly got in the car.
    He smiled faintly at her as he shut the door, then leaned in the open window.
    She still looked around. She didn't see anyone watching. "Where is she?"
    "Who? Oh, Val? I was kidding—well, half-kidding. This is a small town, and if you are here for more than a day everyone will know everything about you."
    Her dismay must have shown on her face, because he added, "Don't worry about it. As long as you don't break any laws, there won't be any problem."
    "I have no intention of breaking any laws," she said. She could hear the stiffness in her voice, and he looked taken aback by her reaction. What had he expected? She hated being reminded of her criminal record. She stared out the window while he walked around the SUV and got in the driver's side.
    "I'm sorry, Camilla," he said quietly. "I meant it as a joke."
    She turned to face him, watched his sheepish expression as he buckled his seat belt. She pulled in her claws, forcing herself to let go of the sense of shame he brought out from somewhere deep inside of her. "I'm sorry—Ryan," she said. She added, trying to make it light: "I know you're used to dealing with criminal types. I shouldn't overreact."
    He laughed out loud, a warm, rumbling sound that seemed to surprise him as much as it did her. "You couldn't be a 'criminal type' if you tried." He glanced her way quickly before starting the car. "I really do believe you're innocent, you know."
    She felt such a surge of relief it surprised her. Why did his opinion matter so much? Because the shame felt too familiar, too much like something she'd been running from all her life.
    He still watched her,

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